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Now it feels normal, and the realization has warmth blooming in my belly while I spread jelly across what's left of my toast. Because none of this started after the heat, it just made me notice it.

The four of us have been slipping into this routine for weeks.

I think back to those first days after I arrived, when I didn't know where anything was, and kept asking a hundred questions about ranch stuff that everybody else around here seemed to learn in kindergarten. Clint never acted annoyed when I followed him around, Tripp somehow turned every chore into an adventure, and even Briggs, who spent the first week looking at me like I'd personally offended him by existing, started showing up whenever I needed help with something.

I stare into my coffee.

Tripp said we were scent matches, confirming the suspicion I already had. The words have been rattling around in my head ever since—not because I don't believe him, but because I do.

The problem is, Clint and Briggs haven’t said it, just Tripp.

I glance up automatically, and take them all in. Nothing looks different, and nobody’s acting weird. They're not acting like alphas who have finally discovered their scent match.

Maybe that thinking’s unfair since I don't actually know how scent matches are supposed to act. Everything I've ever heard about them comes from stories, family members, and other omegas talking about how they knew immediately.

They said it was life changing, world shifting, and impossible to miss. Mine apparently comes with breakfast theft and livestock arguments.

Which honestly feels more believable.

Clint heads outside first, and Briggs disappears toward the barn not long after, while I end up helping Tripp clean stalls.

The barn is warm already, sunlight spilling through the open doors while dust floats lazily through the air. One of the horses hangs its head over the stall door looking for attention, and Tripp immediately abandons work to scratch its nose.

"You’re the reason chores take twice as long," I laugh.

“He needed love,” Tripp tells me. The horse flicks an ear and Tripp points at me. "See? He agrees with me."

"That's not how an agreement works."

"It is if you're charming."

"You're not charming."

His grin is immediate. "You slept with me."

I throw a handful of straw at him and his laughter follows me halfway down the aisle.

God, he's impossible.

I rest my forearms against a hay bale and stare out through the open barn doors toward the pasture.

Maybe that's why this feels so different. If it was only attraction, it'd be easy.

People are attracted to each other all the time. This is harder, because I don't just want them when things are intense, when emotions are high, or somebody's making my heart do stupid things.

I want breakfast, coffee, Tripp arguing with animals, Briggs pretending he hates everyone, and Clint pretending he isn't secretly the softest person in this house.

The everyday boring stuff. The stuff that somehow stopped being boring when it became ours.

Ours.

My stomach flips because that's dangerous.

Not the wanting… the hoping.

A week ago, I could blame everything on the heat. Now, I'm running out of excuses.

The barn door creaks behind me and I don't even have to turn around. I’d know that scent anywhere.